No time for final words or Irony even in death
by Author2b9411bloggergirl
Summary: The trio are on a quest to find Snape, make a potion for Lupin, the ONLY one  which has not been invented as of yet  that can save him from his failing health.  Hermione, meantime, is trying to find the courage to tell Harry how she really feels about him


This is just a revision of an idea that I've had for a while. I will write more and hope to do a fairly consistent series. Gaps will be filled in the series. THANKS FOR READING AND REVIEWING! Let me know which name u like best too :)

No time for final words~

They walked down the narrow alleyway, it was dark out, about dusk. "We have to find Snape, Harry, he's the only one that can help Lupin,'' Hermione reminded them for the third time that day. Snape, though hated by all was their last hope, and with Tonks on the verge of a meltdown, they didn't have much of a choice. Lupin was in the fourth stage of werewolfism, there are only five. It can take years or months to reach any level, but Lupin was changing quickly. The first stage was getting bit, the second was nightmares, third was an increased temper, fourth was a more often transformation, fifth was the final stage, permanent werewolf. Snape knew enough about potions, maybe he could at least stall it.

"We know, Hermione,'' Ron said, evidently frustrated at her persistence, as if they could forget. Harry could tell that he was getting tired of the nagging quickly. "Don't worry, we'll find him,'' Harry encouraged the others, even though doubt nipped at the edge of his mind. Hermione had more than one alternative motive, however, if she could find Snape then maybe he could help her save Harry as well. Ever since she had found out about Harry being one of the horcruxes, she couldn't sleep or eat without thinking of it as a ticking time bomb, any minute Harry would explode into Voldemort, and she would loose him forever.

She shook her head furiously, falling back behind the boys a bit so that they would not see, she wouldn't, she couldn't think about that. She stared at the back of the black hair- covered head in front of her. It shone, as usual. She studied the shape of the body that it was connected to. "If only he would consider me, not Ginny,'' Hermione thought. She had tried so many times, so many cunning schemes and plans, but nothing, nothing had worked. She wanted to just give up, but she couldn't, not on him.

She looked at Ron, well the back of his head anyways. He had made a TERRIBLE boyfriend, why did she still have feelings for him? Why did she have to like them both? She stopped herself from sighing.

Suddenly, Harry stopped dead in his tracks, Ron following suit in a microsecond. Hermione almost ran into them both, too lost in thought, though now she felt something to. "Wha-,'' she opened her mouth, soon realizing what it was. They all three turned.

Coming up the alley, slowly getting closer, fluttered something similar to a set of tattered drapes. "Harry,'' Hermione gasped. Even though all three of them knew how to cast a Patronus, Harry's was the best and the most reliable. Hermione had never been good at it. Plus, she knew how they affected him most of all.

Harry was already ahead of her, as usual. "Expecto Patronum!" his voice rang out like lightning, but mixed with the power of thunder. The sky had darkened, almost looking like a storm. Nothing came. "Expecto Patronum!" he yelled again, but still nothing. "Harry, what's-," but she got her answer sooner than she had expected.

Harry's legs had grown weak, giving way, he slid to his knees. "Harry!" she yelled. She went over and hoisted him back to his feet. "Harry, what's the matter?" she asked. Why wouldn't his Patronus work? "I-I don't- know,'' Harry said breathlessly.

A sudden jolt through him caused him to slid slightly. Thankfully, Ron was already over helping Hermione to support him. "Mate? What's going on?" he asked urgently, sounding slightly confused.

The dementors were close now, there were three of them, one for each. Hermione gulped. "Harry, come on,'' she said desperately. "It's no use, I'll never see her again,'' Harry nearly sobbed.

"What? Harry, what are you talking about?" Hermione asked. "Ginny,'' he said,''I'll never be able to tell her how I feel either." "She knows, Harry,'' she told him sympathetically. "No, trust me, she doesn't,'' Harry winced.

He fell backwards more. "Harry, come on!" Hermione heaved him up, to the best of her abilities. Ron caught on to the fact that she was having trouble, and together they got him to his feet. They started backing away with him, as quickly as they could.

The one dementor seemed to have his eyes on Hermione in particular. Her breath caught in her throat. "Hermione? Hermione, are you okay?" Ron asked. He kept scowling, trying to support Harry.

"Yeah, fine,'' she gasped out, there was some sort of link being created between her and the dementor. "You'll never get him. He loves the red haired girl,'' an eerie voice echoed in her head. Her mind began to fog over. "Ignore it, just ignore it,'' she told herself.

She couldn't help but look at Harry, however. "Harry, you need- to snap- out- of- of it,'' she gasped, beginning to feel dizzy. "We need you," she went on. They were starting to weaken her now to.

"Just think, Harry. Think of Ginny, your parents, something happy,'' she tried. "What's happy about that? I'll never see Ginny again and my parents are dead, Hermione,'' he looked up at her, tears and an overwhelming pain in his eyes.

"Harry, happy. Happy times,'' she tried yet again. "Happy?" he asked. "Yes, happy,'' she told him. "Please don't start feeling sorry for yourself, I can't pull you out of that,'' she thought.

"Um, your mum's voice, your dad's talent that you have in Quidditch, he would be SO proud,'' she said honestly. Harry took a deep breath. "Harry?" Hermione asked. "I'm okay, Hermione, I'm fine,'' he said, standing up. He brushed his jeans off, old pavement dusk was ground into patches on them.

Luckily, he still had his wand. "Expecto-,'' they were too late. The dementors had began their feasting.

Harry was down first, then Ron. Hermione ran, trying to get some space in between them, so that she could cast her Patronus, or at least, she could try. She tripped. "Just my luck,'' she thought. She rolled over.

"Expect-," it began. The sadness, the misery, the torture. She coughed repeatedly, breath not coming easily. "Harry!... Ron!" she yelled for them. She could only imagine what was happening to them, she winced at the thought.

More coughing, breath was scarce. "Help!" she managed to get out, but weaker than the times before. Coughs turned to gasps now. The dementor was closing in. Closing in for the kiss.

Suddenly, a rush of cool air swept over her, a silver light blinding her in the process. She hit the asphalt, hard, taking in a sharp breath. Ron was able to reach her first, because of his super long legs. He held her up, cradling her in his arms.

"R-o-n,'' she gasped out. "Don't talk, Hermione. Harry's coming, we'll get you some help. Some how,'' he muttered the last sentence, sounding unsure. "No, Ron. P-ro-m-is-e... m-e... so-me-th-in-g... plea-se,'' she coughed out, wincing and fading. "No, Hermione. I don't need to, you're gonna be fine,'' Ron insisted, freaking out on the inside, his exterior only mildly disheveled, he was being brave for her.

"N-o...R...O...N...P-ro-mis-," this was followed by a series of coughs. "Of course, Hermione,'' he said, a tear sliding down to the tip of his nose. He knew how this was really going to end. "Anything,'' he muffled a sniffle/sob. His stomach dropped, at the thought.

"T—t-el-l...H-a-r-r-r-...y. Pl-ea-...se.'' "I will,'' he promised. "Ron, I love you,'' she sent him a telepathic message. Harry reached them just then. Hermione smiled at him. "H-a-r-rrr-y, I,'' her breath caught. She struggled, Ron tried to keep her breathing, but it was in vain. Why did he have to suck at magic so badly?

"Hermione? Hermione? Hermione!" Ron panicked. Harry knelt down. He put his hand on her diaphragm. His arm lost strain, though his hand remained in place. His whole body, his whole reality, his entire being felt like it was falling, plummeting into a never ending pit of darkness that he could never escape. Like the veil that Sirius had fallen through, he could picture part of him falling, like a leaf from a tree in autumn, dying.

Tears slid down his cheeks. "I never even got to tell her,'' he whispered. "What's that? Tell who what, mate?" Ron asked, looking up, the light from their wands reflecting off of his tear stained face.

Harry waited in silence. He knew that it was probably bothering Ron, but it wasn't one of those times when it bothered him that he was being quiet. He had the words, he just couldn't say them.

Silence just felt right. It felt comfortable, easy. His thoughts, the replaying of losing her, those were the unbearable ones. Those were the only things sabotaging the silence.

"What is it, Mate?" Ron repeated. Harry could tell that he was getting tired of the silence himself. "I never got to tell her, Hermione,'' Harry got out, quietly. Ron squinted and listened hard, as if the squinting helped. "Tell her what?" he asked, still leaning in a bit closer.

Harry could feel his blood pumping, hard, and his heart rate speeding up. He took in a silent, deep breath. "That I...That I loved her,'' he said. Ron chuckled.

"What's so funny about that?" Harry asked crossly. How could Ron, his best friend, be laughing at him for not getting a chance to tell Hermione how he felt about her? "No, mate, it's not funny, it really isn't. It's the irony,'' Ron kept chuckling.

"What irony?" Harry asked, completely baffled. The chuckling came to an abrupt halt as he continued. "She was going to tell you the same.''


End file.
